


Divided I Fall

by Logan_sSheWolf (AquilaLorelei)



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Heroine's Journey, Other, Psychological Drama, self-realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-10
Updated: 2011-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquilaLorelei/pseuds/Logan_sSheWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue is taking over. Marie has to stop her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divided I Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Rated PG-13  
> Summary: Rogue is taking over. Marie has to stop her.  
> Notes: Forgive me my egregious Southern Accent Abuse herein. I will make any suggested editions regarding such an Accent. Let's play "Spot the nip/tuck Reference!" *Grin* There's one. You'll notice that during the passages when I refer to Rogue herself as an entity and thus by extension her activities, I tend to wax poetic. This is intentional. The parts where Marie is dealing with her influence are in a slightly more "narrative" style. In other words, more "normal." I originally intended this story to have significantly more narrative flow and for the plot to extend a titch farther than it does (more events, etc.) but this tale is effectively an external account of what is, essentially, an internal, psychological struggle and the subsequent externalization and resolution of that struggle. Wasn't originally going to have that thing about the Dementor's defeat, but figured it was the logical place to go with that concept. Fit pretty well, I'd say. I honestly consider certain of the "Marie-dealing-with-Rogue's-mocking" passages easily some of the most poetic and affecting paragraphs I've ever written, bar-none. They blow me away, and I wrote them! Also, you'll notice that no one in the story called Marie "Marie" but Logan. This is deliberate. I had to actually go back in and correct myself a few times.

_Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
…full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing._  
Macbeth, Act V, scene v

Marie tossed and turned in her sleep. She could not relax, but could not either return fully to the waking world. It had been that way more often than not lately, little relief and the slumber she did get wasn't nearly enough to sustain a girl as active as she.

Several times in her dreams she'd swear she'd seen a nebulous shadow, insubstantial, a film of darkened fog in the form of a human, slip out of and back in her window. And the nightmares were only getting worse—She dreamed about people she'd touched, and people she was certain she hadn't, yet why then did it feel like she had… She awoke with new memories, personalities she was sure were not her own. But she did not touch, made sure of it. But yet she had to, somehow…Otherwise, where could they have come from?

It felt as if there were something…someone else inside her. Not just inside her head, that was a feeling she knew intimately, no—This, this thing, whatever it was crept through the valves of her heart, snaked along her limbs with cold black tendrils and froze her blood to ice. It truly was a living thing, this sensation. It took her over, took control and she wasn't herself any longer. It was this Entity that had the will to survive, even over and above Marie's. This, Marie knew, was her Power Itself. For what she felt when it claimed her in its icy grasp was the pull…The selfsame sensation of drawing another's life into her own. As others grew weaker, it grew stronger. It thirsted. It hungered. It desired to touch… It drew on life to sustain its own. It was inside her. And she did not know how to stop it…

 

Marie crashed a fist down onto her alarm clock when it rang, incessantly cheerful as ever, promptly at 7:30.

"Ah'm *up*, f'r God's sake, Ah'm *up*!" she grumbled at it as if it could hear.

She rolled out from under her covers with a sound and unceremonious *thump*, her legs firmly tangled in the comforter. As she got up to dress and prepare, she shook off the last uncomfortably heavy fragments of last night's dream. This one had been particularly vivid. She dreamed that this thing made of shadow had taken a slight though powerfully strong blonde woman by the throat and wouldn't let her go. That is, until the woman had slumped limp to the concrete in its unyielding grasp. Many such visions were, disturbingly, not uncommon of late.

In looking for her lotion, Marie happened to glance over at her nightstand. Next to the lamp were the shattered, jangled remains of what was once her faithful (annoying) timekeeping device. Little springs and clockworks were everywhere, and its bells were firmly bowed in!

Her first thought, lips quirked, was "I'd better get an electric one tomorrow. Less annoying first thing in th' mornin'…"

She managed an impeccable double-take. Her second thought, her brain not having processed the implications of what her eyes took in until just then, was "How in the name of—!? How'd Ah *do* that!?" She flexed her right hand experimentally.

"Well Ah don't *feel* any diff'r'nt, but whatever that was may just've been from th' stress of th' nightmare, that's all," she rationalized. "Anyway, haven't got time t' worry now, `cause Logan'll *kill* me if mah butt's not in that /dojo/ door by 8:00 on th' mark…"

She made a sound of disgust in her throat that sounded a good way toward generating a first-class loogie, then with an eye-roll sighed, "Morning classes…" Returning to her original train of thought, she shrugged at what could turn out to be something of a predicament, then figured, "If this, whatever it is, gets bad, Ah c'n just go to th' P'rfess'r later t'day, that's all…Not a thing t' worry about…"

 

Marie's third opponent in as many minutes met the wall with a resounding *thud*, leaving a faint imprint in the plaster as if to show where he'd been.

"Oh, mah God, Bobby, Ah'm sorry! Ah didn't know Ah was gonna' *do* that…" She continued in a quieter voice and with a rueful smile, "Ah guess Ah don't know mah own strength…"

"No, it's okay," he told her, resting a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort that had Logan growling faintly and snarling a little behind his back. "Whatever you had for breakfast, though, I'll have some tomorrow morning!" Bobby told her with a laugh.

Her answering smile was fainter than ever—She realized she could really *hurt* someone! May yet, if the class kept up the way it was going…

Logan, seeing the distress in her eyes as well as picking up on the tension in her form, called her aside and gave her permission to practice alone in the back room for the remainder of the session. Both the Logan in her head and the one before her in the flesh as much as told her (in so many words) to go see the Professor afterward. It was as good as an order, and she was grateful for it. She needed an excuse, because, screw it, she wasn't brave enough on her own. What was *happening* to her? *That* was the question she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to…

 

"What is it you claim to be feeling, Rogue? It seems as if you are simply having very vivid nightmares brought on by the new and heavy stresses of college life and training to join the teamas a full-fledged member of the X-Men. Otherwise, it could be almost anything."

She seemed even slighter than usual as she attempted to form an answer for him and explain accurately what she meant.

Shaking her head, keeping her eyes closed because she was too nervous yet to meet the Professor's own, she answered "No, no it's not that— though it makes sense, an' Ah thank you for trying. But that just isn't what Ah'm feelin'…Last night, I `dreamed' that this…this shadow-thing took a'hold of a woman an' wouldn't let her go. T'day, Ah wake up an' Ah'm stronger than anyone in th' house. An' Ah don't take hits, either. In martial arts t'day, no one could touch me. Not even a bruise `r a scratch. It's weird, put plain an' simple."

The Professor steepled his hands as he was wont to do when engaged in deep thought. "Yes, this is something that should be monitored—not to alarm you, Rogue—but if these apparent dreams manifest physical symptoms afterward, there could be more at work than either one of us realizes."

"Ah'm inclined t' agree with you on this one. Besides that—an' Ah know Ah can tell you without disturbing you too much `cause you always keep a cool head—Ah wake up with mem'ries from people Ah never touched, bits an' pieces of consciousness that aren't mine. This *thing* seems t' be collectin' `em for me as Ah sleep. It's like mah power escapes th' confines of mah body durin' the night…"

"That makes an alarming amount of sense, considering what you've described otherwise…However, we can make no more assumptions until further symptoms manifest. The best thing I can tell you to do is monitor the situation for any sign of major changes. If you feel anything different or more strongly, anything at all, come immediately to me."

"Sounds good, P'rfessor," came her tentative reply.

 

That night, and every night after, more dreams-that-were-not-dreams. The next morning, she was flexible, and knew of rockets, chemicals and machines. The night after that, she awoke half-blue, one eye of scorching, molten gold, the other her own. She unknowingly looked in her mirror, screamed, and "shorted out," becoming no less than three people at once. She fainted. Logan sat with her on her bed. He had to calm her down. No one else could. She was too much for them. Later still, she had power over magnetism, or weather, magic or the mind, though it never lasted very long, sometimes only half a day. The Holocaust, she knew. Horrific things, memories, bitter-tasting and ashen, or bile-raising, feral and angry. She knew despair and abuse, pain and great suffering. Memories that would cause her to snap awake, screaming, often sobbing, too.

So, too this same way she knew love and affection, fun and laughter, desire and passion and touch…Oh, how it mocked to know touch in such a way! The way a child knows a fragrant sweet by pressing his nose to the window of the shop. Ever the observer, always on the outside of the window of life looking in. Truly a sense-memory Marie herself would never know. She hardly dared dream of the day when she'd know these feelings for her own… Until…Unless…

Sometimes what Rogue drew upon was of great power, other gifts and memories amusing or comparatively useless, innocuous and almost mocking. Fortunately, Rogue hadn't struck anyone Marie knew, else the girl knew she would destroy Rogue utterly if she ever did. Marie was afraid she'd wake up and fire sparklers, or phase through walls, or, worst, feel the slash of claws rip through her hands. Never yet. Sometimes, though upon waking Marie was green, or pink, tentacled, scaly or orange. Electric or too strong or too fast, too frightening, or too angry. She was on fire, or made of ice. Sorrowful.

No matter what she talked over with Xavier, or how often, she knew that this was her own doing, simply too much and too different for an outsider to understand. She still hadn't an inkling how to stop it, the thing, and it was becoming more overwhelming still. She got stronger with time and more mocking, more easily free and steadily stronger. The Professor even once tried to put her in a psychic coma to prevent Rogue's freedom. The shadow-thing resisted his thrall, and the night he tried, Marie screamed, in obvious pain, and tore awake. Even the world's greatest mind was not enough to halt The Rogue. For she was an entity that had no mind of her own. Only will. The pure, blinding angry will to survive. It existed in everyone. Marie's was just honed to a spear's point. The edge of a razor, a claw. It was perfect survival. Evolution itself beneath her skin, winding darkly, sinouosly through her ribs and around her heart. Nature, her own and all others' at once, distilled and terrifying, pure, red in tooth and claw.

For that was what Marie was calling It now. The shadow she felt. Her. The Rogue. Rogue. The gloved one that forced cover or risked death. Now Marie understood, truly knew, and was overwhelmed many times over. She sometimes drowned in it, sobbing hopelessly, helplessly that Marie could not stop this infinitely frightening thing inside her. She lived inside her, body and mind, and it was She to draw on others' lifeforce, their powers and memories, not Marie herself. And to conquer Rogue, Marie knew, would be to touch again. Marie just had no idea how…

Still, life went on essentially as normal. Classes at Empire State University in the City where she could just be Marie D'Ancanto, when she was not an X-trainee, unnoticed and unknown as a mutant. Practice, when she didn't throw people into walls. Late-night talks and movie-nights with Logan (to whom she hoped she was getting close, but didn't know how he felt yet.) Still shopping trips with Kitty and Jubilee, and the occasional counseling session with Jean, "just to keep on top of your feelings, Rogue." As if everyone assumed she didn't know her own mind! It bristled, but Marie went along with the good-natured concern to keep the others happy.

She bristled, too, for some reason she could not identify about still being called "Rogue." Mind you, not that she wanted people calling her "Marie," that was a form of intimate address she reserved for Logan alone—No one else even knew her "real" name, and she intended to keep it that way. Yet, "Rogue" she wasn't, either. That was the name she gave to the power, it was not her own. No matter. That she'd sort out later.

Marie's main concern was what to do about her. Marie's only option that she knew of was simply to be woken in the overnight hours when Rogue walked. To do what, Marie didn't know. Defeat the thing in single combat? She wasn't certain. Perhaps no option was either safe or wise, still awakening was the only option she was immediately confronted with.

Worst of all was the headline Marie caught sight of in the student paper The Empire State Herald. "Journalism Student in Coma," it read. The text spoke of one of her friends, a young woman named Carol Danvers, having fallen into a medically- inexplicable coma some two weeks before. The student body was mourning for the well-loved girl's absence, and without explanation Marie could not help but feel somehow responsible. And then she knew. With startling, bell clarity Marie knew that Rogue was responsible for it. She felt that surge of power rise up beneath her skin, that certain strength Marie knew from two weeks before. The strongest vision, the clearest one from her dreams, her nightmares. The blonde in the mask…Carol! It was obvious that the girl, too, had powers and Rogue exploited them. Marie still possessed them, in point of fact, and was ashamed. Carol's powers, her memories lasted longest, were still there. Marie lowered her eyes, closed them, let the paper drop from her nerveless fingers to drift to the floor. She buckled, sobbing. It was like She was given mocking voice then. ::What can you do, poor helpless thing? I'm stronger, and always will be.:: She purred, strong and dark to Marie's weak light.

Marie sent a thought back then to the mocking shadow, ceasing her weeping and drawing up righteous anger instead, turning it inward as if on herself. Marie stood, fists clenched and jaw tense, waging an internal war, quite literally, with her own id.

::Ah don't have any idea just what Ah am gonna' do, but rest assured, you' goin' down bitch!::

The thing Marie deigned Rogue just laughed another low purring laugh, unafraid.

 

The next night, Marie put her plan into action. She had Logan sit vigil in her room to wake her up at midnight when Rogue was sure to walk. She trusted him to help her, and he trusted her not to harm him.

Marie was long asleep when he saw the shadow-form slip free of the confines of the girl's body. He saw her, but didn't stop her taking her leave. That was Marie's task to undertake. Marie herself had to be the one to gain her freedom and Logan knew she could—and would, if all went well!—do so that same night.

About a quarter after twelve, Logan knew of the thing's return. He shook Marie's bare shoulder and whispered sharply for her to wake. Bleary-eyed, she did and was confronted with the standing form of Rogue herself. Beside Marie's bed, the thing had its hands on its hips, and surely would have been sneering in contempt and triumph had Rogue a definable face instead of a form made of cold, roiling shadow.

Instantly, Marie snapped completely awake, turning to face Rogue, as angry easily as she'd ever been. She wasted no time, lashing out her arms and grasping the darkness about the throat, inasmuch as Rogue was substantial enough to grasp. Rogue did the same to Marie, clasping her nebulous hands around the warm throat, matching Marie perfectly move-for-move and struggle-for-struggle. Marie's anger could have easily been her downfall, for she did not plan ideally what she would do once she was wrestling with this angel of death. Still, the living girl held on.

The thing began to increase the pressure then. For something that did not appear solid, its grip was surprisingly strong. Marie started to see spots, almost like Jubilee's sparklers, pop in front of her eyes, and the edges of her vision wavered, blurred like she was much too tired. Marie knew she was losing consciousness, and would soon completely be nothing more than Rogue's mindless vessel if she did not win over the thing. An ice-hot jolt of fear and despair went down her spine and through her the longer the thing held on.

"Must be what meetin' a Dementor feels like…" her mind was twisted enough to put in. Which was all the inspiration Marie needed… "And what defeats a Dementor?" she reasoned, carrying out that line of logic.

Marie thought then of all the things—all the people—that her life was worth living for. She thought of Kitty, and Jubilee, her best friends. She thought of Jean, Ororo, the Professor, and even Scott, her instructors and guides. But she saved the strongest thought for last.

Logan. Her mentor, her most trusted friend, her everything. That did it. That turned the tide. Every ounce of Marie's strength—and then some—she'd thought lost to the hideous, angry thing came flooding back to her in a rush warm enough to counteract the winter's chill of Rogue's touch.

It was Marie who finally, literally had the upper hand, Marie who was finally strong enough and finally fighting back… ::No! Ah've fought you long enough! Ah've had enough a' you an' more than enough! You're mine! Ah' control you now…::

Suddenly, silently, as if literally driven away by a Patronus, Rogue jolted back a half-pace, but Marie was quicker. She grasped Rogue's hands in her own, fingers interlaced, and Rogue began drawing back into Marie's body through her palms in twin vortices until she had completely disappeared back into her host. The clash of Titans was over almost before it began.

Rogue knew she was defeated, and, almost ashamed, almost contrite, she relented. She knew a stronger power than she when confronted with it, and Marie was that stronger power.

Marie could feel the power flow and slip like dark silk beneath her skin, a strange internal marionette, the two forms moving in concert with perfect, lethal grace. Exhausted from her ordeal, Marie slumped to the floor, boneless and unconscious in the wake of Rogue's own touch.

Logan, still shocked, scooped her up and wasted no time in bolting to the lab for Hank to examine her.

Pounding on the metal door when he reached it, a somewhat-bleary blue fuzzy scientist pressed the button to slide the panel open. It was with Logan still holding Marie close that Hank confronted him.

Not a word needed be traded until Hank spoke up.

"Put her down here," he indicated, gesturing toward a gurney near the center of the room. Gingerly, Logan stretched Marie's unconscious form across the bed and sat down to wait. She looked willowy and vulnerable in that virginal white cotton nightdress, asleep as if some princess awaiting her prince. She looked more, in truth, like an escapee from a Gothic romance. Logan regretted (silently!) that there was nothing he could do.

"What happened?"

"You've heard of that shadow? The `thing' Marie kept claiming was her escaped power?"

"Yes, but I'm certain I'm only one of a select few who has. The Professor wanted me to know for medical reasons, should anything have gone wrong—Why do you ask?"

"'Cause that's what got to her. The thing she calls `Rogue.' Her touch. Her power. And she touched it back. Defeated it, looks like… It's inside her now, an' I'd say f'r good…"

"Yes, well we can make no assessments whatsoever until she wakes up. Would you like to stay?" Logan cocked his head, quirked that eyebrow, sat down in a convenient chair by the bed.

"As if that's even a question, Big Blue! Now put on coffee. I'm in f'r a long wait...." (This was, of course, posed in that not-exactly-polite-but-not-unkind Logan way.) The feral turned the chair backwards and draped over it, crossing his arms and with his right hand taking Marie's bare left.

Hank just smiled faintly at the show of affection, nodded, complied.

It was some six hours later, night having crept almost on tiptoe into day, that Marie finally stirred.

She turned first toward Logan, as if expecting his presence.

"Logan," she nodded, "thank you for bein' here. And Hank—Do me a favor an' switch back t' regular Twinkies…Those radioactive green ones clash horribly with your fur!" She closed her eyes as if in agony at the chromatic dissonance.

He laughed, glad to see she was in good spirits despite her ordeal.

"I would be most pleased to do so, just as soon as these six cases run out…"

She just groaned.

"Seriously, how do you feel?"

"Honestly?" she sighed, "Like Ah got nailed by a Dementor. Which, truth be told Ah guess Ah did. But now, this mornin', not too bad…"

She turned her head and looked at Logan's gloveless hand, entwined still with her own, and answered, "Better than ever, actually."

"Always good to hear. Let me just make sure that--"

He almost gasped, but refrained, for fear of startling the still-frail young woman.

"Mah' neck, though, that's the only thing.... It burns. Like where she touched me…"

"She branded you, Marie. As near as I can tell, it's a burn mark from her own touch."

The young woman just nodded gravely.

"Yeah, an' Ah c'n feel her closest to the surface there, like she's just about t' break free. But Ah won' let `er. An' she knows that. So she's angry. Her presence is strongest there, plain `n' simple… C'n Ah see?"

Hank nodded. "Yes. I may have a small mirror—Ah, here it is…This… burn seems to be your lamed hip, I would think…"

"Like the Bible story? When Jacob wrestled `til mornin' with the angel…"

Hank smiled then, a benevolent presence.

"Yes, indeed. Very astute of you to have caught that. Such a marking is a means of saying that your struggle is truly over—Like passage-rites in certain tribes that will leave scars, but leave their bearers irrevocably changed. Do you want to see what she did to you?"

Marie was still slightly hesitant in her answer.

"Ah think so…Ah' mean, Ah'll eventually have to…Might as well be sooner as later…"

He fished in a side drawer and found a small square mirror he used for reflecting light in plant experiments, handing it to Marie as she attempted successfully to rise to a sitting position.

"Thank y'. And to answer your question, no. Ah really am okay, jus' gimme'a couple' days recovery time, `s all, Ah think…" She tilted her head to the side to aid her view, and hissed in a breath through her teeth.

"Ooh, that does look like a bad one..."

Gingerly, she touched the choker-shaped burn with the tips of two fingers.

She hissed again as she realized the band of blackened flesh hurt, almost burned to the touch, an electric charge. She could feel too the pull of Rogue's touch, as the biofeedback loop was connected. Dizzy, she fell back to the bed, groaning.

"Ehm, Hank…Ah' don't think that was such a good idea…"

"In other words, that—that band on your neck—would be the only spot that no one can touch? Not even you?"

"Ah would wager. Not if Ah' don't want Rogue t' rear up again."

He nodded. "Right. Now that we know that for certain, you may consider yourself forewarned, as I doubt there is anything I personally, or indeed anyone, can do with regard to Rogue's influence there. You would best know how to avoid her flare-ups. No other apparent side-effects though? No gross physical damage, no psychological disturbances?"

She shook her head. "Not that Ah' can tell. Well," she amended, "none more th'n usual, anyway…"

"Mm-hmm. Yes, well…In that case, I feel it best that I dismiss you for now, with the caveat that you come to me should anything untoward occur regarding your health due to her influence. I release you thus into the care of your esteemed guardian."

He smiled again, warmly, as the two headed to the door, "Rest now—For real, this time. I wish you nothing but the best of luck in your future endeavors my dear." He looked over at Logan, then back at her, and she could have sworn he winked jovially.

"All your future endeavors."

She just grinned back at him.

"Ah don't think Ah'll have too much of a problem…But thanks for the encouragement all th' same…"

"Mmm, you're welcome. Now, if you will excuse me, there is an altogether desperately boring stack of medical reports requiring my immediate attention. C'est la vie…I must, therefore, bid you adieu."

"Until later, then. And Hank—Thanks again."

"No trouble at all. Glad I was here to help you."

The doors whooshed closed behind Logan and Marie with Hank's parting words.

She turned to him, noting "You were awful' quiet in there…What was that about?"

"Hank was checkin' you over. I was just there f'r moral support."

She smiled then, genuine, ducked her head.

"Thanks again. F'r bein' there, Ah' mean. F'r stayin' there with me. F'r wakin' me. And f'r knowing Ah could do this. Thank you for your faith in me. It w's you Ah thought of, y' know…"

He cocked his head, raising that eyebrow quizzically.

"What do you mean?"

"When—when Rogue w's attackin' me, Ah knew that mah' strength alone couldn't sustain me. Ah thought `f all the people that meant somethin' to me an' that's what brought me through. But the thoughts of you were strongest of all. You were what won me that battle, Logan. Thinking of the one reason Ah really had to survive. You."

She was easily as sincere as she'd ever been.

His eyes came over saddened, soft, but otherwise he looked unaffected.

"Really?" he intoned softly, almost gently, brought one hand to cup her face.

"Really. In case you couldn't figure it out, Ah love you, Logan. Have ever since Liberty Island, maybe before. You are so special to me, an Ah just don't think you know it yet…"

He leaned down closer to her, almost hesitantly, looking almost as if he wanted to ask her a question. Finally, he managed to shore up his courage and do so.

"I don't wanna' cross any boundaries, Marie, but would you--" he broke off, unable to continue so long as he still looked into her vulnerable, open eyes.

(Were she braver she'd call him nervous!)

"Would you let me kiss you?"

She just smiled a wicked little smile in answer, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him to her.

Too quickly for her to rethink her decision, he had her locked against the wall with his body. Kissing her more earnestly now, he nicked her lip with his teeth. He drew blood, wounding her and healing her both at once. With that taste of copper, the animal in him surged to the surface. The call of the hunter sang in his blood, and he could begin to sense the answer in hers. She managed a little squeak of surprise when they broke for air, and as his hands gripped her shoulders, her eyes jolted open to look into his.

Suddenly—too suddenly!—he pushed her almost roughly away. He closed his eyes, ashamed, and shook his head.

"No, Marie…" It was almost a snarl, berating his own apparent folly.

She mocked him, "`No, Marie', what?"

"I can't…I can't do this right now—I don't—I don't want to…"

He just shook his head again at the futility of speech.

"Don't wan't to what? Kiss me? It seems a minute ago you were doin' a damn fine job at just that!"

She put her fists to her hips and continued to snark at him, a little angry, maybe somewhere underneath amused. (In truth, most was annoyance at his reluctance to act.)

"Don't toy with mah' emotions, Logan—You, of all people should understand that Ah'm strong enough t' make mah' own decisions about these things! You honestly don't think Ah'm woman enough to know mah' own mind?" It was part statement, part query, part reproach.

He just went reticent once more, managing only to cup his large hands around her delicate face. He dropped his voice to a whisper and attempted to explain his reluctance.

"I just don't want to break you, Marie…"

"Ah won't let y', Sugar…'Fact by now Ah'm not even sure you could…"

She clenched and flexed a fist at her side experimentally, as if testing Carol's—her own—strength for certain.

"You know that's not what I mean--"

She held up a hand to stop his rant. "But, if y' feel that way about it, Ah'm not gonna' have you do somethin' you'll regret. Ah ain't gettin' through to y' in this mood, so c'n Ah just ask y' t' lie down with me? Just t' sleep?"

He smiled fondly.

"Yeah, I think I can do that…"

 

It was little more than a week later Logan caught Marie at the kitchen table brooding over a cup of tea, morose.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" he asked, resting a hand lightly on her bare shoulder.

She looked up at him guiltily.

"Carol."

He just raised The Eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't follow…?"

"That girl—That blonde, in the school paper. The article on my dresser? Rogue w's th' one that hurt her, an' as far `s Ah' know, she hasn't woken up yet…Remember you went by with me t' see her a couple' times…Now Ah' know how Matt felt…"

He nodded, understanding now her mood.

"You're sayin' y' think there's somethin' more you should do, if y' can. After all, you feel directly responsible f'r puttin' the girl in th' state she's in—Even though you had nothing t' do with it. Honestly honey, I can't help you this time. But I'll betch'a money I know who can…"

He walked with her down the hall and waited while she rapped lightly on the Professor's office door.

"Go ahead," he reassured her,"I'll be here when y' get back, but y' gotta' do this yourself. An' I think somewhere inside you know that."

She looked up at him again, smiled shakily.

"That's right."

She looked around the edge of the door.

"P'rfess'r?"

He smiled knowingly.

"Hello. I expected I'd see you sometime soon…Come in, sit down."

She did as requested, taking the imposing leather chair in front of his desk.

"Tea?"

"Thanks. Mine in the kitchen w's getting cold…"

He gave her an appraising look, as if asking himself whether to ask his next question. He folded his hands benignly and asked the obvious question.

"This is about Carol, isn't it?"

She smiled ruefully.

"With all due respect Sir, y' don't have t' be a mind-reader…"

He chuckled at her attempt to lighten her dismal mood.

"You are here because you hope to learn that there is something you can do. Well, fortunately, I may be able to help you. It would require your wholehearted compliance, as it would render you psychically vulnerable in ways you have not been in some time. Are you willing to risk it?"

"Not as if Ah' have much of a choice, now is there? Ah can't just sit idly by while Ah know there's a woman lyin' in a hospital bed `cause'a me—`Cause'a that thing inside `a' me…Carol's a friend'a mine from college, dammit—Ah'm not gonna' watch her die!" "Perhaps, then, you would allow me for once to be the conduit and, by opening a mental link between you, transfer her memories from you, through myself, and back into her. It's risky, but it may be our only chance to restore her from oblivion…"

"Ah' have ta' do it—Ah' can't afford to do anything else…"

He nodded his reassuring assent.

"I will make the appointment for this evening. Would that be acceptable?"

She nodded.

"The sooner the better, t' be honest with y'…"

 

Promptly at six-o'-clock that evening, a black sedan pulled into the admittance ramp at Westchester General.

The three figures exited the car and made it through the double doors.

Professor Xavier turned to the frightened young woman and asked, "Are you sure you're ready? We can always do this another time…"

She shook her head.

"No. It has t' be tonight or the guilt's just gonna'consume me…"

He nodded, then looked up at the nurse at the admittance desk.

"We're here to see Ms. Danvers."

Marie chimed in, "We're friends of hers…"

The nurse nodded, "Yes. You had made an appointment earlier. I'm sure she's glad to have visitors…" she pulled out the girl's chart, inspected it, snapped it closed, replaced it. "Room 205."

Xavier nodded, then he, Logan and Marie headed toward the indicated room.

It was Marie to step through the door first. She stepped over to stand in front of the chair on Carol's left side. She sat and took the unconscious girl's bare hand in her own. Charles wheeled in and parked on the other side.

"Are you ready to begin?"

"Yeah. Gimme' just a second, though…"

She turned her head to address Carol directly.

"Carol? Ah' just wanted t' let y' know Ah'm sorry. Ah' never meant t' hurt you…Ah' hope you know that…We're gonna' try an' help you, now…"

She turned back toward her mentor.

"Al'right Professor…You can begin, now…"

She soon felt the prickling fingers of the psychic probe tracing the edges of her consciousness. She ducked her head as if to enter a deeper meditative state.

She knew that the Professor could sense the empty, swirling maelstrom that was Carol's mind. She knew, too that he felt Carol's mind trapped inside her own.

Marie allowed her own consciousness to take a step back that he could coax the frightened girl out.

::Come:: he intoned.

::Home?:: she asked.

She could feel his mental smile.

::Yes. Home. Follow me.::

As if drained out through a funnel, Marie sensed Carol leaving her. Marie could feel the memories each individually as they went coasting ghostly past. She gasped and her eyes flew open when the link was broken. She fell back against the back of the seat, drained and exhausted.

Carol's own eyes fluttered, and she opened her eyes only to see her friend Marie.

The blonde smiled.

"Nice to see you."

Marie just sniffled a little. With a sad little smile, she leaned close to hug her friend.

Carol raised herself up into a sitting position, bending a bedrail in the process.

"Looks like everything's okay t' me…" Marie smiled.

Carol flexed a fist experimentally, grinned at the other girl. "Looks like!" Her facial _expression changed abruptly as she asked, "Seriously, who's Rogue?" Obviously Carol had encountered Her within the confines or Marie's mind.

"She's—That's…"

Marie looked over at the Professor for confirmation.

::Should Ah' tell her?::

::In this case, it is purely up to you. She is obviously herself `different', and so would think no less. Nor would she reveal your secret, as she yet conceals one of her own. I think, though, it would ease your conscience to do so.::

Marie looked back at Carol directly.

"Rogue is mah'…mah' power. Y'see, Ah'm a mutant…And she's an energy vampire that's a product of mah' manifestation. Four weeks ago, she escaped. That's when she took hold'a you an' literally stole your consciousness. That's what put you in th' coma. It was me…Ah' can't tell you how sorry Ah' am…Can y' evah' forgive me? Seriously, if you're gonna' resent me for the rest of your days, Ah' c'n live with that…"

Carol just looked up at her shyly.

She noted conspiratorially, "When I first manifested, I broke my mom's arm. Not to mention most of the front of my house. This? Minor infraction, really," she shrugged.

Marie laughed lightly, then gripped Carol's hand again in a gesture of camaraderie and mutual understanding.

"So, you think you're gonna' be okay?"

Carol half-smiled. "I'll survive. Probably should call my mom, though…"

"Well, in that case Ah' should probably go so Ah' c'n let you do that…"

Marie gave her one more hug and then stepped back a pace.

The Professor wheeled forward and took the young woman's hand

"If you are certain you are well we intend to take our leave." He palmed her a business card. "If, however, you are ever to become overwhelmed by your… gifts, you are welcome to contact the Institute at any time. Our best regards to you, Carol."

She nodded, smiled at his kindness.

"Thank you. And to you." He nodded to Marie, still hanging back. She nodded back and offering one more smile Carol's way, she stepped out the door, the Professor wheeling with great dignity behind. Just before they left, Marie turned back for one last look at the now-healthy girl. She caught sight of Carol chattering excitedly on the phone, likely to her family.

Logan rested a hand on Marie's shoulder, smiled faintly at her courage.

"You gonna' be okay?"

"Yeah. Now."

She wrapped her arm around his waist, and that's the way the two stepped out the front doors.

Together.

Finis


End file.
